


what not to wear

by ignitesthestars



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Family, Family Feels, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 04:36:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9162286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignitesthestars/pseuds/ignitesthestars
Summary: Bail helps Leia establish her Senatorial fashion sense.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is all nym's fault

Leia Organa has a lot of clothes.

She’s a princess of Alderaan - it’s expected. But the sheer amount of them has never made itself quite so obvious as right now, when she has most of them spread across the floor of her quarters.

“I hate fashion,” she announces, staring at the small mountain of clothes before her. Somehow, despite Alderaan being the couture capital of the galaxy, there’s not a single item or outfit in there that manages to scream ‘senatorial’.

“What did fashion ever do to you?” a good-humoured voice asks through the door. Leia glares in its general direction, before remembering that she'd invited her father here, and it probably wasn't his fault she couldn't choose what to wear.

“Let him in,” she sighs, and the door hisses open to reveal Bail Organa in all his olive cloaked glory. “Did you want the list chronologically, or alphabetically?”

“How about we start at what's going wrong today, and work backwards if we can't fix it?”

It's a remarkably sensible suggestion, and she almost resents him for it. But that would be ridiculous, and she's getting the feeling that she's already been silly enough today. So she flops into a convenient chair, gesturing for her father to join her.

“You're going to laugh at me.”

“You've dealt with worse.”

Her lips twitch. “I suppose.” And yet it still takes her a moment of feeling five years old before she manages to say-- “I don't know what to _wear_.”

Strangely enough, he doesn't laugh. She gets a solemn nod instead, dark eyes surveying the mess she’s made of her clothes and her quarters. 

“It’s difficult,” he says slowly, “choosing how you want to portray yourself. Not just to the Senate, but to the galaxy. Clothing is just as much a part of that as everything else - manner, speech, action. I’ve had my own troubles over the years.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I didn’t realise you considered me such a fashion mogul, Leia.”

“ _You’re_ the one who always says that Alderaan is famous for it’s couture.” She slumps further into the chair, toying idly with the end of her braid. At least she’d had the foresight to attempt this before she actually had to go anywhere. “Really though. You always looked so - senatorial. And it’s not as though I haven’t been able to dress myself before this point, it’s just that it suddenly seems like a much bigger deal.”

“Have you tried considering that you’re not being ridiculous by worrying about this?”

“What?”

Bail gestures down at his own utilitarian outfit. “This didn’t happen by accident. As a Senator, I needed to convey a certain amount of wealth and power on behalf of Alderaan, without being arrogant about it. It was my job to command attention. Now - now my role is something else.”

Now his role was to serve as a member of the Alliance and a conduit between them and her mother. His outfit is cut to perfection, of course, but in muted colours and a simple style. Leia tilts her head to one side, taking in Bail in a new light - as a figure, rather than a father. His appearance speaks of stability to her - a steady hand, a reliable Viceroy. It does _not_ command attention.

She sighs. “I have to stick with the white, don’t I?”

He grins at her. It makes his already youthful face seem even younger, and she finds some tension in her shoulders unravelling. The galaxy is such a dark place these days that smiles seem so difficult to come by, and all the more precious for it. “It certainly is arresting. It draws eyes to you, Leia, without suspicion. And we need to temper that as much as possible.”

Because her father wasn’t the only member of the House of Organa to be playing a part for the Alliance. It was a tangled web they wove, and silk was just one of the threads they had to work with.

“Do you know how hard these things are to launder?” she mutters, gesturing at her clothes-mountain, but he’s right. 

White emphasises her youth, disarming or impressing her opponents depending on whether they believe she deserves to be in the Senate. It makes her a beacon, while close enough to Imperial colours as to unremarkable. 

“One day I’m going to have a job where what I’m wearing is as important as what I had for breakfast,” Leia decides, standing up and beginning to sift through the clothes with a clearer eye.

Her father chuckles. “ _That’s_ a lie.”

“We all need hope for the future, Father.”

The words strike a little harder than she means them too, and they’re both silent for a moment. And then Bail is standing; holding his arms out towards her. She steps into his embrace without hesitation, closing her eyes as he presses a kiss to her forehead.

“My daughter,” he says, and there’s a wealth of pain and pride in the words. They stay like that, just for a moment, before life bleeds back in between them, demanding attention. He lets her go, and if his smile now is more subdued, neither of them are going to mention it. “Come on, I’m sure we can find something in here together that will be suitable for your appearance, and then we’ll get your mother to help with hair and jewellery. How does that sound?”

“Keep my aunts far away from me, and I’ll let the chef do my hair,” Leia says darkly, because brushing things off with humour seems like a better idea than letting on just how much that hug had shaken her.

She has to be strong. For her people, for the galaxy. The Imperial Senate comes with no comfort, and unimaginable consequences for needing it.

Still. She’ll take what she can get now, even if she can’t show it.

“You’ve got it,” her father laughs, and they start the climb up Fashion Mountain together.


End file.
